


But Alaska

by jesuschristmarie



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuschristmarie/pseuds/jesuschristmarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of Breaking Bad, Saul Goodman, now Jimmy McGill, goes to Alaska to find himself and finds someone else instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written after season 1 of Better Call Saul and might not line up with what the showrunners decide on in later seasons~

He had options, and too many of them. Green block letters glowed from the screen and spelled out all the places he could disappear to. Some of them he’d heard of, some of them he hadn’t. He checked his watch: 10:34. The service had ended an hour ago, and the elbows and knees of his suit were beginning to wrinkle with wear. He should’ve changed in his car, but now it was parked on the far side of the terminal lot, shining under the midmorning sun.

Guatemala flashed across the screen, but he didn’t click. That was followed by Panama and Singapore and Bangladesh, but something stopped him from choosing any of these. Then, Alaska. He rarely made decisions like this--he liked consulting files, figuring things out. But, Alaska.

He carried the printed ticket as he boarded the flight. It was 11:28, and the plane was set to depart before noon. That was good--he was ready to leave this place behind.

He walked past the first-class passengers, wondering if they noticed his suit jacket. Were they confused to see a man, so obviously important, being shuffled off to coach? Surely.

The man sitting next to him stank of stale cigarettes, but it wasn’t an unpleasant odor. He often yearned for some foul stench as the smell of sweetly rising cinnamon rolls swirled liquid around him at work each day. The man introduced himself as Greg Ogden, and seemed to be fishing for conversation.

“And what should I be calling you?” Greg asked when he didn’t immediately receive a reciprocal introduction.

“Oh, I’m Jim--Jimmy. Jimmy McGill.” As soon as Jimmy said it, he knew it was true. He almost smiled and looked around for a flight attendant, hoping they’d be around soon with that cart of drinks. It seemed like something worth celebrating.

“Nice to meet you, Jimmy. And why are you heading to Alaska?”

“To get out of New Mexico.”

Greg had a laugh at that, and Jimmy felt a chuckle push at the back of his throat. He reached into his pocket and fingered the corner of a worn business card. If he’d pulled it out, Greg would notice that it bore his face over a blue background--blue like the flag, blue like he was an American Patriot, Jimmy thought. But the name emblazoned across the front wouldn’t have been the one he’d just given Greg.

“Saul Goodman, Attorney at Law.” He muttered this as Greg rifled through his carryon, hopefully searching for a Sudoko book or something that would keep him good and occupied.

He’d fought the urge to place the card inside his brother’s casket at the ceremony, when the box was open and he was able to take one final look. Strange that Chuck managed to look smug, even in death.

***

The cabbie had been eyeing him in the rearview the entire way from the airport. Jimmy could see why--his white shirt bore the stains of a turbulent flight and he carried nothing but a briefcase.

“You here on business?” The cabbie’s voice carried traces of disbelief. Jimmy didn’t look like he was here for a conference, or vacation, or anything. He looked like he’d come to get lost.

“Pleasure.” Jimmy wondered if the cabbie detected the sarcasm. If he did, he couldn’t understand it. His passenger was just another sorry sop hoping to find himself in transit.

“If you’re here for fun, I’d advise you ditch those clothes. Nothing’ll be fun if you’re wearing that, and I reckon you don’t have a goose feather parka tucked away in that bag of yours.”

Jimmy almost shot back a tired barb, but the scene outside quieted him. The cabbie was right--it was early October, and already a downy layer of snow buttered the ground. His crumpled suit jacket would do little against the soggy mush that seemed to be seeping from overcast skies.

“Forget the hotel. Where can I get some gear?”

The cabbie pulled off in front of a wooden storefront. Jimmy looked out the window, dubious.

“Looks closed to me.”

“No one’s out today. Heavy snow advisory. If you’d looked when you got in my cab, you’d have noticed the chains. But it’s open--I reckon just empty. Tell them Joe sent you.”

Jimmy shelled out two twenties and passed them over the center console.

“You have a great visit.” The cabbie’s well-wishes came too late. Jimmy stepped out onto the hard, snow-covered sidewalk and slammed the door shut. He could immediately feel the chill swelling from the ground and through the soles of his shoes, freezing him from the bottom up. The cabbie was right--there was hardly anyone out today. Across the street, a lone figure hunched against the wind, their body a swaddled red lump against gray storefronts.

Jimmy hurried inside, stamping his feet against the wicker mat in the doorway.

“Hey, will you shut the damn door?”

The voice came from somewhere in the back of the store, and Jimmy did as it said. Already, he could feel warmth pooling in his feet, filling his extremities. There was a rack of parkas next to him, colored cotton balls made of silky, down-stuffed fabric. He ran his fingers down the sleeve and groped for a pricetag: $325. Christ, this was going to cost him. But he knew how much he had in his briefcase, crisp bills still stacked neatly and banded together in the middle. It was enough.

“We’ve got a goddamned winter storm blowing in,” the voice continued, still irked.

“Look, I’m sorry. I just got off a flight and I was about to close the door--honest.” Jimmy began toward the back of the store, hoping to get some help. He’d never bought clothes like this before--even during winters in Albuquerque and Omaha, he kept the heater running in his car and managed to wear leisure suits all year round. “Where are you?”

“Behind the sleeping bags! Just keep comin’.”

Jimmy thought the voice sounded vaguely like something he’d heard before. It was like that Pink Floyd song he’d never really listened to, but heard so many times on the radio that it still registered somewhere deep within himself.

“Great customer service,” Jimmy said, finally rounding the sleeping bags. The cabbie was right--the store seemed to be empty besides this single, disgruntled employee. And even the employee wanted to be elsewhere, probably getting ready for the storm at home with a girlfriend and a six pack.

The employee turned around and Jimmy stopped walking.

“Saul?”

***

Jimmy paged through the stack of brochures, settling on one that advertised guided outdoor adventures in Denali National Park. The text was bright yellow against a background of fuzzy evergreen trees, slightly pixilated to fit the wide pamphlet. Jimmy hadn’t seen anything like this before--he was used to flatter places and ribboned red rock. This was what he’d been looking for: Enough forest to swallow him whole. Thank God he hadn’t gone to Paris or Kathmandu.

Alaska. Now he could fully imagine himself here. He looked down at the jacket Jesse had picked for him--dark blue with green lapels. He’d gawked at the price--$550--but Jesse smirked and said he’d cut him a deal.

“Hot chocolate’s all the boss man has.” Jesse returned from the office with two mugs. One was plain white and the other had a picture of a family on it--mom dad, three kids. Jesse gave this one to Jimmy.

“This the ‘boss man?’” Jimmy mimicked Jesse’s mild derision and grinned. Was it possible he’d been stewing over an open casket just twelve hours ago?

“He’s got a nice family--they have me over for dinner sometimes. You can see he’s fat. Only got bon-bons and shit stored in his desk.”

Jimmy watched as Jesse took his own jacket off and tossed it down next to a sleeping bag. There were two on the floor, one for each of them, unrolled a couple feet apart. A battery-powered lantern was between them, casting everything in a milky, LED glow.

“Get comfy,” Jesse said, lying back and stirring his hot chocolate.

“I’m not exactly sure how to do that, Jesse. I’ve got a pricetag pricking my side and a sleeping bag welcoming me for a long night on a hardwood floor. Comfy? My coach seat was better than this, and I was sitting next to a guy who kept blaming flatulence on his inflatable neck pillow.”

Jesse snorted and patted the sleeping bag next to him. With almost theatrical reluctance, Jimmy sat down and crossed his wool-stocking feet. He took a sip of hot chocolate and winced as it burned his throat.

“Jesus, Jesse, did you boil the water before making this?”

“Duh.”

Jimmy cast his gaze around the store. Lamplight elongated the dark corners of the store, spreading shadows across the walls. If he could see outside, the snow would be falling in gusts, the wind kicking up bits of it and sending the world spiraling. Jesse’s car was parked outside, but he didn’t have chains. They’d wait until morning to hopefully shovel their way out onto the street. Then Jesse would take him to a hotel, somewhere quiet, cheap, on the fringe of the city, and he’d have to figure out where to go from there.

“How’ve you been?” Jesse asked, dribbling hot chocolate down his front. “Damn.” He blotted at it with his sleeve, spreading the stain.

“Good, you know, busy. Working. Working a lot.”

“Working where?”

“In a store--kind of like your job, really.”

“Sporting goods?” Jesse’s eyebrows were raised, the skin of his forehead folded.

“Cinnamon rolls, actually.”

He expected Jesse to laugh. Make some comment about how Great Saul Goodman had traded one strip mall for another and shed his suits for a polyester pullover. But he didn’t.

“Did you bring any in that suitcase?”

“Ate them during the flight.” Jimmy chuckled for a brief second, blew on the chalky-looking surface of his hot chocolate, and took a quick, noisy sip. “What about you? Enjoying Alaska?”

“It’s not bad. I live in an apartment across town--minimum wage doesn’t buy you shit around here, so I barely get by.”

“I could give you....” Jimmy said it without realizing what he would be offering. This time, he took a long gulp.

“I’m good.” Jesse wasn’t looking at Jimmy, but up at the rafters. “I think it’s been good for me, being away. Not always looking over my shoulder. But I don’t have anyone to talk to about, you know. Stuff.”

They were both looking up at the rafters now. Jimmy knew they both recognized in each other the desire to forget and the inability to move on. They’d both been static, waiting for something to jumpstart their lives back into motion.

“Hey, sorry.” Jesse rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms overhead. “We shouldn’t talk about stuff. You’re on vacation.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ve wondered.”

“About?”

Jimmy didn’t want to say the name--he worried that voicing it aloud might plunge them both back into the thick of it. Maybe Jesse was just starting to get back on track, and now here Saul Goodman, Attorney at Law was--a piece of the kid’s past sitting on the sleeping bag next to him, sharing the same powdered package of hot chocolate.

“Walt,” Jesse said. “Walt’s dead. Took a bullet--not my bullet.”

That was all Jimmy needed to know. He let out a slow breath, like he was exhaling a long drag.

“Jesse, I’m sorry. Not about Walt, really, about what I’ve done.”

They weren’t looking at each other. Jimmy voiced his apologies to a box of dehydrated bacon and eggs and what Jesse said next was murmured to the bulbous glass chamber of the lantern: “I am too. Walt--he was a cancer. He got to all of us.”

They hadn’t forgiven each other, but they could begin to understand. It would have to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

The springed mattress squealed when Jimmy sat down. He sighed, tossed the bags down next to him, and rested back against itchy pillows. Overhead, the ceiling was rubbly and sparkled with asbestos. It looked a little like his apartment back in Omaha, and when he closed his eyes he could imagine himself there, reclining in his chair, popping a familiar VHS into the player.

       “No.” Jimmy righted himself and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t come to Alaska to be reminded of his old apartment.

       Jimmy opened the nightstand drawer. A Gideon Bible sat beside a phone book. He opened to the local business section and paged through. A few of the pages were gummed together, and he cringed to think what might’ve rendered them that way.

       He tucked the cord phone into the crook of his shoulder and dialed. Jesse had told him he worked six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year, so he waited for the familiar voice to pick up the call.

       “Yo, thanks for calling Mountaineer Sports.”

       “Jesse.” Jimmy wondered how the kid’s voice could be so cathartic. The tight places in his body seemed to uncoil, muscles draining of tension as he stuffed the phone book back into the nightstand.

       “Sa—Jimmy.” Jesse didn’t sound surprised. “What’s up?”

       “I….” Jimmy watched headlights swivel across his room, the beams filtering in through gauzy, half-closed curtains. “I was wondering if you had any local restaurant recommendations for lunch. I missed the continental breakfast and was therefore deprived of the lovely soggy cereal and stale croissants.”

       There was silence on the other end. Jimmy began to wonder if Jesse had set the phone down to help a customer. Then there was a breath.

       “The boss is in today, so I don’t need to be here. I’ll come get you in a half hour—he’ll be cool with it.”

       “Oh, c’mon, you don’t have to do that. I was just wondering. You know, as a tourist. I shouldn’t have bothered you at work.”

       “A half hour.”

       Jesse hung up, and Jimmy felt anticipation propel him to get up and sort through his recent purchases. There was a brown fleece jacket and some hiking pants—the kind that zip off into shorts. The kind Jimmy would’ve normally regarded with something resembling disgust.

       Jimmy slid these on over a pair of long underwear and wrapped a scarf over the turtleneck top of the fleece. True to his word, Jesse was idling outside room 16 twenty-eight minutes after their call.

       “Now you’re looking like an Alaskonian.”

       “Is that what they’re called?” Jimmy asked doubtfully, pushing his fingertips right against the vents that were dispelling warm air.

       “Uh, yeah.” Jesse backed out of the parking lot and turned right.

       “You have chains now? We’re not gonna get stuck in a snowbank, right? Because I have been stuck in a snowbank, and let me tell you, it is not something I want to do again. You know about shrinkage, right? It’s real, and it’s very damaging to a man’s self confidence.”

       “God, stop talking. We’ll be fine.”

       Jimmy looked around. There was still more snow than he’d seen in years, pillowing all the buildings and melting in soft piles along the gutter.

       “So, where are we going?”

       They pulled into a McDonald’s about five minutes later. Jesse cut the engine and pulled his hood over his head.

       “I’d suggest running or you’ll freeze your balls off,” he advised.

       Jimmy realized he should have something to throw over his head, so he took a fringed end of his scarf and wrapped it across his hair. Jesse smirked, but he ignored it and threw open the passenger door.

       They hustled into the McDonald’s, stomping snow from their boots in the tiled entrance. A murky puddle had already formed, and they tracked dirty, moist boot-prints to the register.

       Jimmy tore the wrapping off his burger without much fanfare, tossing the damp paper onto the plastic red tray between them. He was hungry—hadn’t eaten since they brought around nuts on the plane—and he downed half of it before he noticed Jesse watching him.

       Jimmy rolled his eyes.

       “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” He’d given Jesse a hard time about choosing to take him to McDonald’s. They had a PlayPlace in the mall in Omaha, just down the strip from his store. But having Jesse sitting across from him changed things—he wasn’t just a lonely man with an upper lip that only went unshaven to try to disguise his usual appearance. Jesse knew him—all the bad stuff he’d done, but also the good.

       Jesse shoveled a few fries into his mouth and pulled something out of his overlarge jacket pocket. He smoothed it against the table and passed it to Jimmy. It was one of the brochures he’d looked at last night, the one with yellow lettering.

       “Saw you looking at that,” Jesse said, leaning back a little.

       Jimmy nodded and picked it up, his fingers shining the front with grease.

       “Are you into stuff like that? Backpacking, I mean?”

       Jimmy looked at Jesse, wondering what he was really asking. Was he trying to understand why Jimmy had come all the way here? Surely he wasn’t just here to sit inside a musty room and watch snowflakes fall while the neon hotel sign flickered its vacancy.

       “Yeah. Could be fun.”

       Jesse’s soda was already almost empty. He sucked the dregs and said, “I’ll be right back.”

       Jimmy waited. He unwrapped a second burger and ate this one slower than the first. The brochure advertised three-to-five night excursions with their Outdoor Experts—was Jesse thinking of sending him on one of these to do some wilderness soul-searching? Leave it to that kid to become a transcendentalist after he’d given up weed.

       “I’m one of the guides.” Jesse sat down and offered his soda to Jimmy. Jimmy shook his head, just wanting Jesse to go on. “Tours usually end in early September, but it doesn’t get bad out there until November. This is a freak storm—news says it’ll melt away by tomorrow or the next.”

       “You’d get a group together? Will people sign up?” The brochure offered guided hikes in groups of five or more.

       “Nah, the boss wouldn’t like that. I mean, I could just take some time off. Few days. We could use rental equipment from the shop.”

       Jesse looked out the window past Jimmy, like he didn’t want the invitation to be supplemented by too much sentimental eye contact. Jimmy appreciated this.

       “What about animals? Bears? Are they around?”

       “They’re around, but you never see much of them. I haven’t used my bear spray once.”

       “Well, then yeah—sure. Are you sure?”

       “Jesus, Jimmy, it’s no big deal. I can have the equipment ready by tonight and we can leave in the morning.”

       “That soon?”

       “Unless you want to stay another night in that rat-shit hotel.”

       “Tomorrow’s great.”


	3. Chapter 3

Alaska, as it turns out, is goddamn cold.

There were a few moments towards the beginning of the trek that Jimmy found himself seriously questioning his choice of destination. He was no stranger to cold; winters in Cicero had made sure of that--but years in the New Mexico desert had made him comfortably ignorant of the kind of deep-seated chill that wormed its way into your bones and dug around in your insides. Not to mention that he was pretty sure his balls had jumped back up inside his body to hibernate.

Thankfully, the kid seemed to know what he was doing, and they hadn’t frozen to death yet. The little plastic baggie instant meals that he procured from his overstuffed backpack were a little bland, but good nonetheless, and they were a welcome break from the cinnamon rolls that often looked a little too much like they were drizzled with semen. And the scenery. Jimmy hadn’t seen this many trees in years. So much green was almost overwhelming at first--it was such a stark contrast to the dusty red expanse of nothingness that he’d been stuck in for so long that he couldn’t help but to keep his neck craned skyward, taking in the crisp, clear air.

“Yo, you coming? It’s gonna get dark soon.” Jesse was a few yards ahead of him on the trail, thumbs hooked underneath the straps of his massive backpack. “There’s this cool little clearing about a mile away that I wanna set up the tent in.”

Jimmy hadn’t realized he’d come to a full stop, and suddenly his backpack felt very heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah, sorry. I have been waiting to hear you say those words.”

Jesse waited as Jimmy caught up. “You tired?”

“Me? No way,” Jimmy lied with the false confidence that used to come so easily. “Back in Illinois I used to do stuff like this all the time. King of the Mountain, they called me.” His feet were hurting like hell.

“That was what, like 50 years ago?” Jesse snorted and started up the trail again, walking at a pace brisk enough to make Jimmy internally groan.

“What? No! How old do you think I am?” He hurried to keep up with Jesse’s strides.

“Dude. You could like, be my dad.”

“I--What? You’re out of your mind, kid. Mature older brother, maybe. Or like, a young uncle. A role model-type thing.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Is it the hair? It’s the hair, isn’t it. You know, that’s gonna grow back. Or is it the lines? Because those are stress lines from dealing with the kind of shit my crazy clients like you and your charming partner threw at me. But I’ve been experimenting with cucumber--” Jimmy stopped talking as he realized that Jesse’s hands had clenched at his sides, and the hunch in his posture wasn’t just from the thirty-pound backpack.

“Shit. Sorry kid, I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

Jesse flexed his hands slowly and rubbed his wrist with bony fingers, the tattoo on his hand curling and uncurling as he did. “Naw, it’s cool. It, uh, it doesn’t hurt to talk about him anymore.”

“He was a real shitbag, wasn’t he,” Jimmy said quietly. Jesse didn’t answer, and they walked side by side in silence the rest of the way.

***

For some reason, Jimmy hadn’t anticipated sharing a tent with Jesse.

In hindsight, he should have realized that carrying two tents on their backs while hiking 30+ miles up and down craggy, snow-covered mountains was nowhere near realistic, but he still found himself with a pit of discomfort nesting somewhere beneath his small intestine as Jesse set up the single small tent.

“You gonna help me out or just stand there?” Jesse looked up at him from where he crouched by the tent, metal stake in one hand and mallet in the other.

“Yeah, sure. Where do you want me?”

“Grab the sleeping bags and stuff. I’m almost done with the tent.”

“Your wish is my command, young Master Pinkman.”

“Uh, okay?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. The kid didn’t know good humor when he heard it. He dug through the packs, procuring, thankfully, two sleeping bags and foam sleeping pads. Jesse had finished with the tent, so Jimmy carried the sleeping gear over and dumped it unceremoniously inside, planning on straightening things up later. For now, all he wanted to do was sit down and give his feet a rest.

The clearing must have been a popular site to make camp, because there was a little ring of stones circling a makeshift firepit, complete with treestump seating, and a stack of kindling nearby. Some forward-thinking camper had even placed a tarp over the firewood to keep it dry from the frequent storms. Jesse had pulled off the tarp and was selecting the best branches, turning each one over with his long, slender fingers before either placing it back in the pile or tossing it next to the firepit. He looked up as Jimmy stepped out of the tent. “Hey, make these branches into a little, like teepee or whatever. And see if you can find the matches. I think they were in your pack.”

“You got it. Hey, we got any marshmallows?”

Jesse turned to look at him with eyebrows raised. “Marshmallows? Seriously? Are you a twelve-year-old girl?”

“Whoa whoa whoa, are you telling me you don’t like marshmallows? That’s gotta be the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, and I can tell you stories that would make your daddy cry.” Jimmy shook his head in disbelief as he pulled a treestump closer to the firepit and began to arrange the firewood into a pyramid.

“First rule of backpacking is only pack what you can carry.” Jesse sat down on the other treestump. He had a fancy-looking pocketknife in one hand and a half-carved block of wood in the other. Jimmy eyed it with a sidelong glance, but elected not to ask about the wooden figure. “You do know that marshmallows are like, 95% air, right? Not exactly a burden.”

“Dude. We don’t have marshmallows, alright?”

“Okay.” Jimmy raised his hands in mock surrender. The firewood pyramid was finished, if a bit lopsided. He reached for his pack and rummaged through it until he found the tiny blue matchbook, one of the last remnants of his old life. He turned it over in his hands, feeling a sudden rush of nostalgia for the person he used to be.

Jesse glanced over at him, reading the name on the inside of the matchbook. “Whoa, you have a personalized matchbook? Or did you like, steal that guy’s name?”

Jimmy lit a match and held it to the kindling, waiting until the flames began to lick up the pyramid before he answered. “No, actually, that’s my real name.”

“Your name’s not really Saul Goodman?”

“Do I look Jewish to you?”

“Uh, I dunno.”

Jimmy half-smiled, watching as the red-hot glow began to spread, lighting the precarious structure from the inside out. “Newsflash, kid: You don’t spend 10 years in Albuquerque and remain this lovely shade of pale unless you’re 100% old Irish stock.”

There was silence for a minute as both of them watched the sparks dance above the flames. Then Jesse asked, “So why’d you change it?”

For a split second Jimmy considered giving Jesse the usual crock of shit, but then he stopped himself. Sitting beside him was the one person in the entire world that he could tell the absolute truth to, and that was something he hadn’t been able to do in years.

“Uh, my big brother was also a lawyer, and he was partner to this big law firm: Hamlin Hamlin and McGill. Imagine the biggest douchebag you know, then multiply him by Hitler and you get Howard Hamlin.” He sighed. “Well, that’s what I thought back then anyway. Turns out the actual douchebag was good old Chuck McGill. He didn’t want me to be a lawyer because I was too much of a criminal.” He glanced at Jesse, who was staring into the fire and turning his carving over and over in his hands. “So I changed my name and became a criminal lawyer.” He half-smirked, wishing that Jesse would stop being so damn melancholy and laugh at his jokes.

“Sounds like a real asshole.”

“That he was.”

Jesse didn’t comment on his usage of the past tense, and Jimmy wrestled for half a second before blurting, “That’s--why I’m here, actually. Chuck just died.”

Finally, _finally,_ Jesse turned to look at him, his face illuminated with the warm firelight. Somehow, his eyes looked even more blue now than they did in the sunlight. “What happened?”

“His heart, so I’m told.”

“Shit, man. That blows.”

“Yeah.”

Jesse was still looking at him, so Jimmy looked back, fascinated by the way the orange light of the fire illuminated all the hills and valleys of his face. He looked so different from the last time Jimmy had seen him--half-crazed and black and blue. Now, his face had filled out a little more, and he looked older, but that was no surprise considering what he’d gone through. His hair was longer than Jimmy remembered, and there was sandpaper stubble around his jaw. But the haunted look that had hollowed out his eyes those last few months in Albuquerque was gone, replaced by something that almost looked like peace.

Jimmy was the first to look away, and he self-consciously ran a hand through his thinning hair, trying to think of something else to say to fill the stretching silence, but Jesse beat him to it.

“Why’d you come to Alaska?”

Again, Jimmy almost gave him some bullshit answer full of false bravado and emphatic hand gestures, but again, he stopped himself in favor of the truth. “I, uh, don’t really know. It’s about as different from New Mexico as I could get, I guess. And I’m never going back to Nebraska; the whole state is a corn-covered shithole. I thought about getting out of the country--Belize, maybe, I’ve always wanted to visit--but I’m too much of a patriot.”

“Belize. That’s where that asshole Mr. White said Mike went when he killed him.” Jesse’s hands were chasing each other again.

“Right, yeah. Mike. Great guy, even though he was something of a geriatric bastard most of the time.”

“I miss him.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

This time, Jimmy was determined not to let the depressing silence swallow them both up. “Hey, why did _you_ come to Alaska? I would say that it’s not what I would have chosen, but, well.”

“Uh.” Jesse’s voice was thick, and he coughed twice before continuing. “You ever--you ever watch Ice Road Truckers?”

“Can’t say that I have. Is that like a new sport or something? Ice Road Truckers is the new baseball?”

“Uh, no. It’s this show where these guys have to drive these big delivery trucks over these frozen roads in Alaska and Canada and shit. I watched it a lot when I was trying to get clean, the first time. And they had all these shots of like, nature and mountains and stuff, and I always thought it would be nice to visit, you know? After everything with Mr. White, like, settled down, or whatever. And then after everything went down I figured no one would look for me out here. I even--” he grinned and his hand went to the back of his neck in a gesture Jimmy remembered well. “I even tried to get a job as one of those delivery guys, but I guess I’m not, like, Ice Road Trucker _material_ or whatever.”

“So you became a backpacking guide instead?”

“Yep.”

“How’s that?”

“I like it. Being out in nature is cool. It’s like, therapeutic.”

“I bet. I’ve never seen this many stars in my life. Makes me feel tiny, which, let me tell you, is an impressive feat.” Jesse gave a little ha of laughter at this. _Seriously? That’s the one thing he laughs at?_ Jimmy should have felt more offended than he did, but the satisfaction of finally making the kid laugh eclipsed everything else.

“Wait till you see the Northern Lights, yo. It’s a, what’s it called, transcendental experience.”

“Looking forward to it.”

This time, the silence between them was comfortable, and Jimmy was about to suggest that they turn in for the night when Jesse looked him full in the face and said, “Hey, man, I’m really sorry for what I did to you--the whole Brock thing. I know you only did it because Mr. White made you do it. I, uh, overreacted. I’m sorry.”

There was a sarcastic retort already forming on Jimmy’s tongue, but the earnest look in Jesse’s blue eyes killed it before it could escape. Jimmy cleared it from his throat. “Uh, thanks. I’m sorry too. I hope you know I had no idea what his plan was, and I never would have done it if I knew there was a kid involved. I was scared to death of the guy, and I will gladly admit that in front of any judge and jury. But that was a cowardly thing I did, and I’m sorry.”

Jesse nodded and stood up abruptly. “Uh, I think I’m gonna hit the hay. There’s food and stuff hanging up if you get hungry. Just make sure you hang everything back up so the bears can’t get into them.”

“Right. Bears. Bears would be bad.”

“G’night.”

“Sleep tight.” Jimmy watched as Jesse disappeared behind the tent flap. He couldn’t figure the kid out, and for some reason, that bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The trail narrowed around the sixteen-mile mark, and that’s when it began winding into the mountains. The air was almost imperceptibly thinner here, but Jimmy felt it with the full weight of his pack bearing down on his shoulders and his chest twisting with the strain of drawing breath in and pushing it out. The trees were becoming scarcer and more stunted, the broadening gaps filling in with snow-edged streams and jagged rocks. Jesse was hiking in front, his pack so wide that Jimmy couldn’t see the points of his skinny shoulders from where he stood. Jimmy reached into the mesh outside pocket on his pack and rooted his fingers around until he found a plastic bag of gorp. He’d made the mistake of calling it that in front of Jesse, forgetting that it was “trail mix” now. Gorp, a shortening of “Good Old Raisins and Peanuts,” made Jesse believe that Jimmy just might be even more aged that he first believed. The kid had no respect, and Jimmy told him that. Jesse could only hope to have as much hair when he got to be around Jimmy’s age.

He was just starting to chuckle at this when Jesse stopped walking. Jimmy ran into his pack and got jostled backward.

“Hey! You’ve got an old man here—if you don’t watch out, I might break something!”

Jesse didn’t say anything. Jimmy slipped the gorp into his front jacket pocket and waited, but still nothing.

“Hey, Jesse! Hello! Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“You know what, man? Just shut up.”

“Bu—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Jesse’s voice was low, growling, and Jimmy craned around his wide pack to see what was stopping them.

Jimmy had only seen a documentary about grizzly bears, but he still knew this was one without even thinking about it. Its shoulders were heaped with muscle beneath thick fur and its eyes were black, watery sockets. Jimmy could see the faintest trickle of snot draining like a slug trail from one of its dark nostrils. It couldn’t have been more than ten yards away. One of his hands grabbed at Jesse’s arms, trying to spur him into action.

“What about your bear spray?” Jimmy was talking fast. “You always carry some, right?”

“Like I said, I’ve never had to use it.” Jesse was talking through his teeth, each word taught and harsh.

“Where is it?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in my pack.”

“Oh, that’s excellent. Somewhere in your pack—really handy. Will you politely ask the bear to wait while I dig through your pack? We’ll just have to hope that it’s as interested as us in having a fair fight.” He was unzipping the top compartment of Jesse’s backpack and emptying the contents out onto the trail.

“C’mon man, just get the fucking spray.”

“This thing must be really buried.” Jimmy tossed a plastic flashlight down and felt around the bottom of the pack.

“Jesus, can you go slower? The thing’s getting closer, man.”

Jimmy felt the canister, wrapped in a neoprene holster.

“Here,” he gave it to Jesse and ducked back behind the pack, waiting. Nothing moved.

“Did you do it?”

“God, give me a sec!”

Jimmy could hear the bear getting closer, the ten yards becoming eight, seven, six.

“Jesse, goddamnit. You gotta do this, I can’t die out here! Bear food? Have some dignity.” Jimmy peered around again. Jesse’s arm was shaking, the tendons tight beneath his tattoo as he held the spray out at arm’s length. The bear reared up onto its haunches, rising a few feet above Jimmy’s head. He grabbed the spray from Jesse and gripped the nozzle, sending a thick cloud of repellant into the animal’s face. It roared, but started away in the opposite direction, unharmed.

“And that’s how you do it. They didn’t call me King of the Mountain for nothing.”

Jesse collapsed onto the trail, still trembling. He seemed to prop himself against a boulder with some difficulty and closed his eyes, panting.

“Jesse, you okay?” Jimmy squatted down and reached a hand out. He traced the geometric seams of Jesse’s insulated jacket, unsure what else to do.

Jesse nodded, a quick jerk of the head, and balled his beanie in his fist. Jimmy pulled his hand away and stood.

“What kind of mountain man are you, freezing like that at the first bear we see? Lucky I was here to take the reigns on that one. Really, kid, you can’t carry bear spray if you’re not going to use it. Are you listening?”

Jesse’s face shone and his eyes were trained on Jimmy’s feet, unblinking.

“Kid, say something. You sure you’re okay? Try not to keep me in suspense right now.”

Jesse nodded, the same up and down as before. Jimmy noticed that he kept twisting the beanie between his hands, wringing it of imaginary water. All the muscles in his body seemed to be straining just beneath the skin and his breaths were shallow, panting. Jimmy had seen the kid in so many states, but never like this.

Jimmy started packing Jesse’s things, keeping the bear spray at his hip. You never knew when those things would sneak up on you, didn’t Jesse know that? Sure, you didn’t encounter grizzlies wandering the dark underbelly of Albuquerque, but he was a nature guide now. A nature guide like him should've been prepared. And besides, back in New Mexico you encounter much worse than bears.

“Got all the stuff,” Jimmy said, trying to keep his voice even, like Jesse was acting normally. “What do you say we push on to the hotsprings?” That’s where Jesse said they’d make camp for the night--somewhere they could see the Northern Lights.

Jesse shook his head. Jimmy’s grin faltered and he crouched again.

“I know another place,” Jesse croaked. “Closer.”

They made camp no more than a mile up the trail. Jimmy carried both packs--one on each shoulder--as Jesse led him in a slow upward hike to a flat, tree-fringed clearing across from the rocky, mountainous moonscape. It was with enormous relief that Jimmy heaved the packs down and stretched himself out on the soft dirt.

“I could go for some serious deep-tissue massage right now,” he groaned. “You know how heavy those things are? It’s like having a grown man on your back, and I carried two. It’s like David and Goliath, kid, I may look small but I barely even broke a sweat!”

He was rambling, his talk getting worse by the minute, hoping that Jesse would jump in and tell him to shut up. He cast a glance at the younger man, trying to gauge his mood, and was dismayed by what he saw. Jesse was hunched over on the ground, hands over his face. He was pallid and shaking, covered in a sheen of sweat despite the fact that the temperature was hovering a few degrees above freezing. Something twisted inside Jimmy as he realized that Jesse looked like Chuck had, in his worst days.

With a sigh, Jimmy heaved himself to his feet. “Alright, you just hang here and focus on getting your mojo back and let me take care of everything. Take it easy, alright? You’re the color of one of those marshmallows we discussed earlier.”

He’d hoped for a response at this--even a half-heartedly raised middle finger would be better than this silent breakdown--but got nothing for his efforts. “Okay then. Guess I’ll set up camp.”

The drawstring bag containing the components of the tent was buried at the bottom of Jesse’s pack. Jimmy extricated it with difficulty, cursing under his breath as the string at the top got tangled in the other various contents of the pack and ended up dragging most of their supplies out with it and into the dirt. “Is this a good spot to pitch the tent?” he called to Jesse over the top of the bag. There was no response.

The ground was mostly flat and devoid of any large rocks, so Jimmy cleared away all the branches and small stones that he could see and dumped the contents of the tent bag out onto the dirt, surveying them with increasing worry. Before this trip, the last time he’d even seen a tent was when he’d come across the Kettlemans “camping” in the woods behind their house. Basically, he had no idea how to put the tent together.

There were some telescoping poles of varying lengths, some metal spikes, and a whole lot of canvas. He pinched the thin plastic-y fabric between two fingers, hoping that maybe by touching it he would be granted some magical tent-erecting knowledge.

“So I’m guessing there’s no manual?” Jimmy didn’t even glance at Jesse when he said this, knowing by now that the kid wasn’t going to respond. He began wrestling with the poles, trying to snap the metal into place over the bungee-cord that strung them together.

“Goddamn tent people,” he muttered when one of his fingers got pinched between the sharp metal ends. “Haven’t tents been around since like, what, the Stone Age? And you’re telling me they haven’t invented a better tent than this piece of shit? That’ll be my next venture, a self-making tent. One that just pops up, boom, without all this hassle. People do this for fun?”

He threw one of the offending poles down and began threading another through the thin material of the tent. There. He poked around for one of the rocks he’d tossed away and used it to hammer some hooks into the ground, the way he’d seen Jesse do. Then he looped the tent flaps into the hooks so it wouldn’t fly away and started on the other pole.

After another bout of rustling and cursing, the tent was made, if haphazardly. Jimmy looked at it critically. One of the poles seemed to be sticking out at a different angle than when Jesse made it, but he shook his head. It was only one night. By morning Jesse would be his usual self and seeing evidence of Jimmy’s ineptitude would just make him laugh. Jimmy was beginning to detect a correlation between his own personal embarrassment and Jesse’s idea of comic relief.

He boiled water on Jesse’s camp stove and chose bacon and eggs from the selection of dehydrated food.

“Jesse, I’ve got something real special here--grandma’s recipe.” Jimmy slopped some onto Jesse’s plate--one of the two reusable dishes they’d brought on the trail. The eggs were the color of urine with the consistency of cottage cheese. Jimmy winced and threw some gorp on the side to sweeten the deal.

“Eat up. Protein will do you some good.” He set the plate on Jesse’s lap and got one of the metal sporks from the cooking bag. “Here.”

Jesse’s didn’t move to take the utensil, so Jimmy took the beanie from his hands and set it aside. He took one of Jesse’s hands and curled the younger man’s fingers around the spork. He felt himself notice the warmth in Jesse’s palm, the fingers rough in places and smooth in others. Jesse’s hand tightened, the muscles no longer slack.

“There you go.” Jimmy’s voice was quiet. He quickly drew his hand away and backed up a couple feet, just to give the kid some space.

The dehydrated eggs tasted about as good as they looked, so Jimmy scraped them off into the trash bag and settled for a few hearty handfuls of gorp. Jesse was shoveling food into his mouth—peanuts and bacon in the same bite. There was something mechanical in the way he moved. A robot arm and a hinged jaw taking bite after bite until the plate was clean. Jimmy felt bad for tossing away his food. Would it be bad to scoop it out of the trash for Jesse to eat? Would Jesse even _notice?_

“Polished that off like a pro. You still hungry?”

Jesse shook his head.

“In that case, I’m going to go wash these off.” He saw that Jesse was shivering, the thin, waffled fabric of his longsleeve hardly able to stave off night’s fast-approaching bite. He pulled his pack across the ground and rummaged through it until he found one of the fleece jackets Jesse recommended he buy.

“Guy who sold this to me said it has a five-star rating.” Jimmy wrapped it around Jesse’s despondent form, pulling it snug around the younger man’s shoulders. “And I know what you’re thinking—salesmen, they’re all snakes. But I trust this salesman. I knew he’d cut me a good deal.”

Jimmy took the dishes to a stream near the clearing. There seemed to be water all over the National Park, bubbling up from the ground everywhere you stepped. Jimmy wondered how he’d manage in drier places like Nebraska now that he had a taste of what life was like in the Northern latitudes. Winters in Cicero weren’t like this. They were a dry cold, cracking the sidewalks and filling his lungs with glass. Here, the cold was wet, alive, all-consuming. It split him open and spilled him out onto the mountainside.

He positioned himself on a wide, flat rock next to the brook and let the water wash over the plates and sporks. He heard something rustle and looked over his shoulder. He’d left the bear spray back with Jesse, just in case the kid needed it. Funny thing, considering he didn’t think Jesse would use it, even with a bear looming over him.

The image was enough to made Jimmy stand and shake the dishes off without inspecting them for residual bits of food. He was at the campsite thirty seconds later, sucking fresh air through his teeth. He leaned against a tree trunk and caught his breath, about ready to laugh with relief. The horror he’d conjured up was nothing like the scene he saw before him: Jesse, sprawled out with the jacket on top of him, asleep.

Once he recovered, Jimmy went through the usual checklist of chores Jesse did before bed. He made sure all the food was in the bear canister, tossing the travel-size toothpaste in after brushing his teeth back at the creek. Then he knelt next to Jesse and shook him, tentative at first.

“Hey, sunshine. I’d let you sleep, but I’m guessing you’d rather not be exposed to the elements with nothing but my jacket to keep you from, how did you so eloquently phrase it? Freezing your balls off?”

Jesse groaned and tried to roll over, but Jimmy caught him. He put his hands under the younger man’s armpits and slowly, laboriously, lifted them both to their feet.

“You really should’ve packed me a back brace if you expect me to be doing all this heavy lifting,” he puffed. “Not that I’d need it, but Christ. I may have a storied past but I don’t have superpowers.”

“I thought you _weren’_ t an old man.”

Jimmy made a noise of protest, but he was unable to feel anything besides relief.

“That’s what you decide to comment on? Please tell me you heard the stuff I said earlier. Be a damn shame if all that material went to waste.”

He glanced sidelong at the younger man. Jesse wasn’t looking at him, but he was grinning, suddenly more alive. The pressure of Jesse’s arm around Jimmy’s shoulders began to lessen as his feet stopped dragging across the uneven ground. It was with a small, nearly imperceptible, twinge of regret that the heaviness of Jesse’s body was no longer pressed against his own. He coughed.

“I heard everything you said, man.” Jesse stooped in front of the tent and pulled his boots off, tossing them unceremoniously aside. “It wasn’t like I could have a single self-reflective moment with you in my ear. Why am I even out in nature if you’re just going to, like, talk over bird songs and shit?”

He pushed himself inside the tent and Jimmy followed, kicking his shoes off and zipping the tent flap.”

“No respect. Who do you think is responsible for the tent you’re currently taking for granted? I’d put my money on the guy who wasn’t comatose all day.”

Jesse stopped rustling in the insulated folds of his sleeping bag, and Jimmy felt a hint of guilt. It felt strange to regret a sarcastic remark, but not knowing how Jesse was feeling beside him in the blackness struck him as unsettling.

“I didn’t mean…forget I said anything. Let’s get some sleep.”

Jesse didn’t answer, and Jimmy hoped that it was because he was getting some much-needed sleep and not because he had slipped back into his catatonic state.

Jimmy peeled off his insulated jacket, balled it up, and shoved it behind his head, tossing and turning in an attempt to find a position that was slightly less than uncomfortable. He had never really realized how much he appreciated pillows. Apparently, like marshmallows, they were considered non-essential to the backpacking experience.

The zipper of the jacket was digging into his neck, so he turned onto his side and propped his head on his arm. He was sure he would lose all the feeling in that arm in a matter of moments, but for now, it was better than sleeping with his head on the bare tent floor.

As his eyes began to adjust to the lack of light, he realized he could just make out Jesse’s outline; a black hole in the darkness that drew in his gaze and held it fast. He found himself watching the slow rise and fall of the other man’s chest with overwhelming relief. He hadn’t realized it until now, in the warm polyester-wrapped silence, that he’d been almost heart-stoppingly worried about the kid.

Clearly there was something profoundly hurting Jesse, and it wasn’t just a particularly acute fear of bears. The way he’d frozen up as soon as he had the bear spray in his hand, the loss of rational thought--

“You awake?” Jesse’s voice was low and muffled by the folds of his sleeping bag, but hearing it still made Jimmy’s heart turn over, and not just from the sudden sound. _How long has he been awake? Could he tell I was watching him?_

Jimmy forced himself to yawn and stretched his arms above his head. “Yep. My left arm, however, is not, since it’s been doing double duty as a pillow since you neglected to bring any.”

“I, uh, I’m sorry.”

Something in his tone told Jimmy that he wasn’t talking about the pillows.

“You know what, never mind. It’s probably good for my back anyway. Totally horizontal positioning. Just what the ol’ vertebrae need.” He knew that he was rambling, but there was a heaviness that had settled over both of them that scared him slightly. Making jokes he could do, but when it came to serious matters his tongue had a tendency of failing him. Still, something deep inside him stirred at the thought of seeing over Jesse’s walls, and maybe even letting down his own.

Then there was a choked sob from Jesse’s side of the tent, and the walls crumbled.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t--with the bear, I didn’t--you almost--”

“Hey,” Jimmy said softly, all his bravado and bluster gone. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay. No one got hurt and everything’s okay.”

“But I couldn’t--”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s human instinct to be afraid of bears--that’s probably why we’ve survived this long as a species. I almost shit myself when I saw that thing, and you were right in front of it--who could blame you for freezing up? I sure don’t.”

Jesse wasn’t looking at him. He was lying on his back, eyes fixed on the swirling galaxies visible through the unzipped screen panel that made up the ceiling of the tent. In the pinprick light that the stars offered, Jimmy could see that his eyes were shining like glass.

“That’s not why I couldn’t do it.”

“Oh?” Jimmy said it as a question.

The silence between them felt heavy and expectant, so Jimmy shifted onto his back and fixed his gaze on the stars above him, trying not to notice that his heart was beating faster than it should have been. They stared up at the stars together, separated by a few inches of polyester and a galaxy.

“Did you know I killed a guy?”

They were edging into dangerous territory now. Jimmy didn’t want to talk about this, didn’t want to relieve any of the horrors they had both been through, but Jesse needed someone right now and goddamn it if he wasn’t a man of the people.

“I, uh, I heard about it. Didn’t get all the details though. Gus Fring’s guy, right?”

“Yeah. Gale.” Jesse pushed himself upright and ran his hands over his face, like he could wipe the memory from his mind.

“Gale.” Jimmy sighed and turned to face Jesse again. “Look, Jesse, that wasn’t your--”

“Don’t say that it wasn’t my fault!” Jesse spit the words through his teeth, and Jimmy could see shining trails like comets on his cheeks. “I went to his house, and I looked him in the eye, _and I pulled the trigger._ And when I had that fucking bear spray in my hand, all I could see was his face! He was innocent, man! He had, like, a family! I don’t even know what happened to them afterward, okay? They’ll never know that Gale died because of me!”

Jesse was sobbing now, his thin shoulders shaking. He looked very small in the sleeping bag, like a kid wearing clothes that were too big for him.

“Aw jeez.” Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, then unzipped his sleeping bag--quickly, before his rational thoughts could catch up to him. He shuffled out of the downy cocoon and knelt beside Jesse, one hand hesitantly outstretched, unsure whether he should touch the younger man’s shoulder or if that would be breaching unspoken boundaries.

Then Jesse grabbed his hand and folded himself into Jimmy, clutching at his thin t-shirt like it was the only thing tethering him to Earth. “ _Oh_ ,” said Jimmy in a breathless whisper, but his hands were already moving, skating shyly across Jesse’s sharp shoulder blades until they met at the razor line of his spine. Jimmy pulled him closer, feeling Jesse silently tremble against him. Without thinking, he reached up and ran his fingers through Jesse’s hair, and Jesse buried his face in Jimmy’s shoulder.

They stayed that way for an immeasurable amount of time as the earth rotated beneath them, noticeable only in the way the constellations shifted their coordinates and the way Jesse’s breaths got deeper and steadier until he was no longer shaking in Jimmy’s arms. With one last quivering sigh, Jesse extricated himself from Jimmy’s embrace and looked up at him. Their faces were so close that Jimmy could almost see the stars reflected in his eyes.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

“We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah.”

Jimmy cleared his throat and, with some difficulty, maneuvered his way back into his sleeping bag. He should have been freezing, dressed only in his t-shirt and shorts, but there was a heat coursing through his body that warmed him to the core.

“Goodn--”

The words were swallowed up by the sound of rustling fabric and suddenly the tent ceiling was an inch from his nose.

“Shit. Guess I don’t know how to put up a tent after all.”

“Guess not.” Jesse’s voice was muffled through the polyester sheeting. “It’s fine, man. It’s a nice night. We can just sleep outside.”

The thought of the cool night air on Jimmy’s burning skin was a welcome one. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do that.”

They dragged their sleeping bags out of the collapsed tent and set them up in a clearing, where the view of the stars was unobstructed by the tall trees that dotted the landscape. Without the mesh screen of the tent ceiling, they filled the entire sky, and Jimmy thought that if it weren’t for the warm presence of the man next to him, he would have felt entirely alone in the universe.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re telling me you brought _fishing tackle_ and not marshmallows? Tell me you’re pulling my leg. Why the hell would you bring something that may nab us dinner instead of a guaranteed dessert supply?”

“Afraid you won’t catch anything?” Jesse threaded the clear, plastic line through the loops on one pole.

“Ha, you kidding me? I’ll have those fish quaking in fear. Besides, fly-fishing is child’s play. You know what we’ve got in Illinois? Ice fishing. Cold as shit and you’re lucky if you catch anything at all.”

“Yeah, right. Ice fishing is nothing. You just like, dump bait into a hole.”

“If it’s so easy, how about a little one-on-one competition? Whoever catches the most fish in an hour wins. Deal?”

“Whatever, man.”

“Deal?” Jimmy propped himself up on his pack. Jesse’s eyes met his for a moment and he fumbled with the fishing line.

“Deal.” Jesse sounded annoyed, but Jimmy could see the amusement tugging at him. The younger man probably thought he was hard to read, but Jimmy had spent a lifetime puzzling over people.

Jesse had already assembled one pole, and Jimmy picked it up as if it were a sword.

“It’s made of that carbon fiber stuff they use to make bikes,” Jesse said. “You know, the kind you can lift with like one finger.”

Jimmy had to admit that it was nicer than any pole he’d ever used, and even lighter than a bag of marshmallows. Dammit.

They were camped next to a river. Jesse said there was a spot, just a little up the trail, where the river widened and the current slowed, drifting languidly over rocks and half-submerged logs.

“Yo, unzip your pants,” Jesse said when the fishing spot came into full view.

“I—what?” It wasn’t the first time Jimmy felt flustered around Jesse. Was he blushing? Jesus.

He ducked under a branch that seemed to be sagging beneath all the evergreen weight of pine needles yet to be felled by winter’s breath.

“Ah, yeah. I forgot about that feature. These aren’t exactly something I’d wear to the office. Excuse me, Your Honor, while I zip my pant legs off into shorts.”

Jimmy could imagine Jesse rolling his eyes at that last bit. He’d gotten used to the younger man doing this, and he could feel himself swelling with more pride when he got Jesse to react to one of his comments than when he got an entire courtroom of applause. That’d never happened during his career, but he speculated it’d be nothing compared to one of Jesse’s resigned half-smiles.

As Jimmy found a flat rock to sit on, Jesse tugged his shoes off and dipped his bare feet into the clear water. Dirt swirled and sparkled murkily, fool’s gold and sand mingling at the surface.

Jesse made a face, gritting his teeth and hissing air.

“That cold? I may just cast from over here.” Jimmy folded his pant legs on the rock next to him.

“No way, that’s not the deal. And your line will get caught in the bushes and shit. The boss doesn’t know we have these, so don’t screw them up.”

“Okay, okay. Not because you’ve convinced me, but because I’m never one to back out on a deal.”

Jimmy almost yelped when his feet settled into the river. The cold was so acute that it seemed to settle deep in his feet and travel up through his bones to addle his brain.

“I thought this was easier than ice fishing.” Jesse was grinning, now in the middle of the river, already drawing his pole back.

Jimmy tried to relax his face, but the hinges of his jaw felt like they might never unstick. Slowly, as his body adjusted, he felt some of the tension ease away. He began toward Jesse, his bare feet scrabbling to find purchase on slick, wobbly rocks. It was too late to call off the deal, but he might’ve been underestimating fly-fishing in Alaska. And come to think of it, ice fishing had just involved a lot of plopping bait into a frozen lake and sitting around drinking warm beer until one of the poles moved. Jesse was already winding back again, arcing his line out across the water. It landed delicately on the surface, blending into the silk water. Jimmy had to admire the finesse. He found himself paying more attention to Jesse’s movements than his own. He watched sure fingers tug the line back, fighting the lazy current, as the tattooed forearm dragged the tip of the pole to the right. The kid was a goddamn artist.

Jimmy felt his foot slide over the slimy surface of a rock. It felt polished like a marble and sent him reeling forward with no choice but to splay his hands out in a desperate effort to catch his fall before Jesse noticed.

There was a splash. Jimmy felt himself hit the water, and then something harder. His nose collided against rock, sending a shock of pain through him. The cold knifed at him, flaying his face and neck and arms. He had to break the surface before it drilled deeper beneath his skin.

“Jimmy!” Jesse had pulled him out of the water, arms wrapped protectively around him.

“I’m okay.” Jimmy coughed up water. He gripped tightly at both of Jesse’s hands, trying to get his footing and spare himself further embarrassment.

“C’mon.” Jesse helped him to the bank, holding their poles in his other hand. He sat Jimmy down on the damp, sun-warmed embankment and dropped the fishing gear onto the ground.

“Shit, your nose is bleeding.”

“Is it?” Jimmy reached a hand to his face and sighed when it came away sticky with blood.

“Does it hurt? You’re not in shock, are you?” Jesse’s words were quickened by panic.

Jimmy didn’t know how to answer the second question, because now Jesse’s t-shirt was off and he was using one of the sleeves to wipe blood away. The spongy, sweat-wicking fabric blotted lightly across his face, and he could feel Jesse’s worry in the hesitant way he touched him.

“Talk to me, man. Are you good?”

Jimmy nodded, trying not to take inventory of all the things he found himself aware of in Jesse’s sudden proximity. Jesse’s eyes were too earnest, blue sincerity pooling beneath arched eyebrows. They were looking into him, and Jimmy wondered what the younger man saw. Pain? Confusion? Assurance that the difficulty of fly-fishing did, in fact, rival that of ice fishing?

“The bleeding stopped.” Jesse’s voice had returned its usual tenor. He was crouched between Jimmy’s legs, worrying at the bloodied shirt with his thumbs.

“Thank God my nose didn’t break—my face was what made me, back in the day.” Jimmy almost went on rambling, something about bus stop benches and billboards, but Jesse’s expression stopped him. The younger man’s face was close to his own. So close. Why was Jesse so close?

“I was like, really worried back there. I was afraid—” Jesse’s voice cracked a little. He looked down for a moment, rubbing his fingertips against the coarse side of his jaw.

“Jesse.” Jimmy didn’t know why he said it, or how the name came out sounding so gentle.

Jesse’s hand brushed Jimmy’s, their knuckles ghosting together and coming apart. Jesse still wasn’t looking at him, watching as their hands orbited, palms brushing, calloused and wet and warm. Jimmy wasn’t alone, and he felt a sudden surge of appreciation for the man in front of him, the only person who really understood. He wished he could articulate even the barest whisper of what he was feeling, but it was impossible.

“Jesse?” Jimmy could barely muster enough courage to say anything, and when he did it was a formless rush of breath. But Jesse looked up. He looked almost pained as his teeth grazed his lower lip. “Jesse, I—” Words turned to ice in Jimmy’s throat as Jesse put his hand on the back  of his neck, resting it right where the fleece jacket began. Fingers tentatively kneaded at the muscles there, which seemed to simultaneously relax and coil at the light touch. Their noses bumped and Jimmy wanted to laugh. Was it weird, wanting to laugh and wanting, at the same time, for Jesse’s lips to absorb his laughter?

When Jesse kissed him, Jimmy couldn’t move. He felt, for a moment, his hands hanging limply at his sides, and wondered why they weren’t running through Jesse’s hair, pushing against the rough sides of his face, memorizing the shape of each vertebrae that stood out against the skin of his arched back. He thought, for another moment, about the miracle of what was happening, and was it really happening? Then he forgot to focus on anything other than Jesse. The younger man’s hand tightened on his neck, pressing Jimmy to him. He breathed, drawing in the barest gasp before kissing him again. The river was still beside them, water rolling noisily over rocks where the rapids began just a few yards downstream. But Jimmy was aware of nothing apart from Jesse, who had one hand gripped tight on his arm as the other clutched at his hair.

When they parted, Jimmy’s eyes were closed. He was afraid of what he’d see when he opened them, afraid that the fresh air was getting to him and he’d only imagined Jesse’s fingers tangling in his hair. But their faces were still close, heavy, wondering breaths meeting in the inches between them. Jimmy cleared his throat, almost out of habit, and Jesse backed away. It was silent for a moment, and then—

“Uh, we should head back,” Jesse said. His hands were buried in his pockets as he kicked at a dirt clod.

“Hey, no, you keep fishing. We’ve got to eat tonight, and I think we both know I won’t be much help on that front.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah. You know, I saw some berries up the way—blackberries, I think. I’ll go check that out and report back.”

Jesse looked uncertain, probably because it was too late in the year for brambles to be sprouting berries along the river. Between cold nights and ravenous bears, the thorny branches had probably been stripped bare long before the end of summer.

“I’ll meet you back here in a half hour. I’m guessing you’ll have caught us some wild Alaskan salmon by then.”

“Yo, I’m _fly-fishing_. Have you ever heard of someone catching a fucking king salmon with a fly? You need, like, eggs and stuff.”

“If I was more surefooted today I’d show you how the pros do it—keep your shadow behind you and grab them out of the water with nothing but your hands. You don’t need eggs. That’s what they make you think you need, but how do you think bears get salmon? Here’s a hint: They don’t have a tackle shop to visit every time they’re hungry.”

Jesse rolled his eyes and Jimmy waved a dismissive hand.

“You roll your eyes every time I try to give you some hard-earned life lessons, so I’ll just leave you to catch some guppies and think about how old James McGill may have been right.”

“Dude, I’ll catch something good. What are you gonna do with all those berries anyway, make some jelly with like, seeds?”

“I think you mean jam.”

“Yeah, whatever. That shit’s gross.”

Jimmy stood slowly, touching his index finger to his upper lip to make sure his nose hadn’t started bleeding again. When it came away clean, he turned and started along the riverbank. Once he was out of Jesse’s sight, he leaned against a tree and folded his arms. He wanted a back massage, something deep and distracting, bordering on painful but still sweet. He’d hardly been able to hold it together back there, especially during the bit about salmon. Like he gave a shit about how to catch a salmon right now. He felt like an unzipped backpack, his insides falling out, piece by piece, on the way up the mountain. Jesse had stripped away all his usual pomp, discovering parts of him that Jimmy had forgotten even existed.

There were no berries here, just mangled briar and more candied pines, sappy nodules ornamenting the jigsaw trunks. So he just sat and waited a half hour, replaying what happened and feeling certain that the thing had been an exercise-induced hallucination. He’d feasted on cinnamon rolls and let himself go for far too long, and now he was paying for it. No, Jesse hadn’t kissed him. Not really. Jimmy made too many mistakes, talked too big a talk without meaning anything. Jesse was good in the simplest sense of the word. He was too good for Jimmy. Hell, he was too good for anyone.

Jimmy thought all of this as if he could undo the feelings that had taken root deep in his stomach and sprouted upward, branches twining through his ribcage and pushing at his heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Jimmy hardly slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel Jesse’s lips on his, the gentle pressure of his hand on the back of his neck; he could hear the whisper of sandpaper as Jesse’s jaw brushed against his own. He lay stiffly in his sleeping bag, staring resolutely skyward, trying not to think about Jesse and utterly failing.

He could only wonder at whether Jesse was thinking about him, too.

He must have finally slipped into a restless sleep at some point during the night, because suddenly there was sunlight streaming in through the tent’s thin walls and Jesse was gone.

He knew that Jesse had probably just gotten up to pee, but there was still a panicky, fluttery feeling that beat at his ribcage as he surveyed the empty sleeping bag. He almost didn’t want to admit it to himself, but being away from Jesse, even for 10 minutes, made him feel almost unbearably lonely. There was something about the other man’s quiet presence that made him feel safe.

Jimmy pushed open the tent flap, squinting in the morning sunlight. Jesse was sitting on a rock beside the campfire pit, stoking the cherry embers still burning amidst the dusty gray ash. He looked up as Jimmy joined him.

“Hey, it’s Sleeping Beauty. I was starting to think you weren’t gonna wake up.”

“Well, no one kissed me this morning, so what did you expect?” The words were falling out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he could feel the red rising to his cheeks. But Jesse just smiled.

“Well, I’m glad you’re up. Breakfast is almost ready.”

“I would have never have pegged you for the domestic type,” Jimmy said. He watched as Jesse scooped two fish fillets off of the tiny campfire grill. “Is that salmon?”

“Yep.”

“How the hell did you catch a salmon? And when?”

“Not telling. And I got up early. I, uh, wanted to make you breakfast.” He handed Jimmy a plate.

“Well, that’s--” He cleared his throat. “That’s very nice. Thank you.”

“I mean, you did all that stuff for me, after the bear thing. I wanted to, you know, reciprocate.”

“Reciprocation accepted.” He took the plastic spork that Jesse offered and held it, watching Jesse’s hands move as he cut into the fish, unable to take his eyes off the way the tattoo on his wrist twisted and danced with his careful, sure motions.

“Come on, man, eat! I labored over this!”

Jimmy quickly looked away. “If you insist, O Master Pinkman.” He took a bite. The fish was too hot, but it was undoubtedly the best thing he’d eaten in recent memory. “Holy shit, Jesse. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“You should have seen my license plate.”

They mostly ate in silence, but it was a comfortable sort of quiet, the kind that only settles when each other’s presence is enough. There was a warm, full feeling of contentedness that had nested in Jimmy’s stomach. It was a feeling he hadn’t known in years.

They were back on the trail before noon. The backpack on Jimmy’s back seemed lighter today, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was growing stronger from the days of strenuous exercise or because ever since last night, everything felt slightly unreal. Everything except Jesse.

It took them most of the day to get to the hotsprings. They walked side by side, not speaking much, but it was enough just being near Jesse. Occasionally, their hands or shoulders would brush, and Jesse would smile at the ground while Jimmy melted.

They made camp about half a mile from the hotsprings, where the smell of sulfur couldn’t seep into their clothes. Jesse unpacked the camp stove and they made dinner together, still without speaking much. Words were unnecessary--they understood each other on a subconscious level now, their thoughts and actions intertwined, tangled up in each other.

It was almost full dark by the time they packed up the food and headed down the trail toward the hotsprings. The path was lined with tall, fragrant cedars, so tightly clustered that it was nearly impossible to see the sky. Thankfully, Jesse knew the trail well, and Jimmy knew that there was no one he would have trusted more to get them safely to their destination.

Then they rounded a corner and the trees opened up and suddenly the sky was filled with vibrant, dancing radiance; otherworldly colors splashed in light across the velvet canvas. Jimmy’s breath caught and he stopped walking, rendered immobile by the sight.

A wide grin split Jesse’s face, and he turned to face Jimmy, mouth open as if to speak. But the way the light caught his hair, his face, his eyes--

The aurora painted Jesse in heavenly colors, and Jimmy didn’t think of anything but how beautiful he looked as he stepped forward and pressed his lips to Jesse’s.

This time, he didn’t hesitate--one hand tangled itself in Jesse’s hair while the other traced along his jaw, feeling the bumps and ridges, memorizing every one. Jesse sighed into him and laced his hands behind Jimmy’s neck, pulling them closer together. Then Jimmy was smiling too big and their lips weren’t touching anymore but their hands hadn’t moved and Jesse was laughing and then they leaned against each other’s foreheads, breathless and giddy, wanting only to be near each other and never to let go.

***

White curls of steam rose up from the surface of the spring, sending sulfur-scented plumes spiraling into the cold night air. Jimmy stood at the edge of the water, watching the reflection of the northern lights dance on the surface. Beside him, Jesse was pulling off his shirt, revealing the tattoo that climbed up his spine. Jimmy did the same, rushing to remove his jacket and the shirt beneath it. He unzipped his pants, too, and let them fall to the rocky ground. There, casual. He was wearing good boxers, neutral navy blue. No reason to be embarrassed.

Jesse’s pants were off and he was facing away from Jimmy, his figure outlined kaleidoscopic by the lights. Jimmy opened his mouth to say something, but then Jesse was bending and slipping his boxers down over his hips. Christ. Jimmy crossed his arms self-consciously as Jesse dove in headfirst. There may have been a time in his life when Jimmy would’ve flaunted too, back when old Kevin Costner was seducing. Now he proceeded timidly, walking to the edge of the spring as Jesse broke the water’s surface.

“Yo, come on, man. The water’s amazing.” Jesse treaded water below him, looking up at him expectantly. The water was dark, but a bloom of heat rose in Jimmy’s cheeks as he thought about being in the water with Jesse, with nothing separating them but the navy polyester blend of Jimmy’s boxers.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” He gingerly lowered himself into the water, drawing in a sharp involuntary breath at the sudden heat. The spring was deep; much deeper than he’d expected, and he felt a flutter of panic when his feet couldn’t find the bottom. Then Jesse was taking his hand, pulling him gently toward a shallow rock shelf, where the water reached a comfortable level at his chest. Jesse’s hand was still on his and his eyes were very blue and Jimmy’s heart was racing.

Jimmy was glad for the darkness as he shifted beneath the water. He looked up, wondering how it was possible to be balanced beneath something so beautiful, and to have it pale in comparison to the man beside him. Purples and greens and blues danced overhead, billowing in colorful folds across the sky. He felt Jesse’s hand leave his, and there was that now-familiar twinge of regret. He didn’t want the touches to end, wanted them to go on, shy at first but with the promise of exploration.

He felt Jesse again. There was a stirring of warm water as the younger man closed the distance between them. He felt Jesse’s thumbs hitch into the elastic of his boxers and didn’t dare to move. Now that they were so close, legs brushing and bumping in the bubbling water, Jimmy loathed the polyester blend. He didn’t want anything separating him from Jesse, and he could tell that the younger man felt the same as he eased the waistband over Jimmy’s dick.

There was something desperate in the way Jesse dragged the boxers down Jimmy’s thighs and threw them to the edge of the spring. When Jesse took him into his hand, their lips met and Jimmy kept his eyes open for a few fleeting moments. He’d rather be blind to the entire aurora borealis than forget the soft expression on Jesse’s face when his eyes were closed and they were kissing.

But then the hand grew more insistent against his skin, and Jimmy’s head tipped back, eyes half closed, as Jesse drew a soft moan from Jimmy’s lips. It had been a long, long time since anyone had touched him like this, and it sent tremors down his spine and stole the air from his lungs.

_“Jesse--”_

The other man silenced him with his lips, and Jimmy lost all form of coherent thought. The world became shapes and silence and sensations, and only the man beside him and the pressure against his thigh mattered at all.

Hesitantly, almost reverently, Jimmy moved his hand beneath the water, exploring the landscape of Jesse’s bare thigh. He could feel Jesse lean into his touch, and at that affirmation he let his hand delve further until he reached petal-soft skin.

Jesse gave a low groan at Jimmy’s touch and shifted in his hand, giving him easier access. Jimmy grasped him tightly and began to stroke, trying to match Jesse’s movements but finding it unbearably hard to concentrate with Jesse’s long, sure fingers wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the motion of his hand, but Jesse was making soft whimpering noises beneath his touch and Jimmy felt like he was about to break apart.

Jimmy clutched at Jesse’s back with his free hand, needing to find purchase as he slipped deeper and deeper. An ache buried within him made itself known, clawing and constricting his insides as he moved faster along the length of Jesse’s dick. The younger man gasped in the distance between their lips and straddled Jimmy. His legs, muscled after months of taking adventure-seekers up the mountain, wrapped around Jimmy’s waist and anchored him there. He was slowing down, pulling his hand away, leaving Jimmy needing more.

_“Jesse,_ ” he groaned, not caring if the younger man saw him as he truly was in that moment--lost, craving, dependent.

In response, he felt Jesse’s hips flex and begin moving against his own. The suddenness of this enfolded Jimmy in feeling, like he was understanding the way bodies could move for the first time. He moved his hands to Jesse’s ass, pressing until the younger man’s lips parted helplessly. In return, Jesse was pushing him with each motion, the friction between their bodies them almost unbearable. When their faces parted, Jimmy took in the lazy, half-formed smile on Jesse’s face. He could see where he’d kissed him, the spot on his bottom lip where Jimmy had sucked and the wetness that clung to his neck. Jesse closed his eyes and tipped his head back, just barely. Then he sagged forward and pressed his forehead against Jimmy’s, breathing heavily. He was grinding against Jimmy, moving urgently. Jimmy reached for his hand and their fingers intertwined. He saw the smile return to Jesse’s face.

“Jesse,” he murmured, inches from the younger man’s swollen lips. The name was all he could manage, but he hoped it conveyed everything he was unable to.

“Jimmy.” It was the first thing Jesse had said since they’d started, and it elated him. Without hesitation, he ducked down to Jesse’s neck and lightly kissed the soft spot beneath the rough jawline. He continued to Jesse’s collarbone, then back up. Jesse was quiet, his approval only evident in the continued up and down of his hips. He began moving faster, and Jimmy knew what he wanted.

When Jesse leaned back, Jimmy didn’t hesitate to enter him for the first time. He felt as he never had before--wholly satisfied before he’d even begun. As he felt himself settle into Jesse, he barely suppressed a low, growling moan. He savored the connectedness, the feeling of running his hands across the silky hair of Jesse’s inner thighs. He thrusted forward and the dormant groan escaped.

Jesse was wrapped entirely around him, and Jimmy gave all of himself in return. He took as long as he could, quickening and slowing his rhythm, taking cues and letting Jesse set the pace when he wanted. He leaned his head back for a blissful moment, forgetting the sulfuric smell of the hot springs and seeing nothing but color and light. Then he tilted forward, not wanting to miss a single heart-shattering expression that flickered across Jesse’s face. He kept going, matching Jesse’s movements, and found himself unable to fathom the younger man’s radiance. He went faster, wanting Jesse to feel all of him--to understand that even if Jimmy wasn’t good enough for him, he could give him this.

_“Please,”_ Jesse gasped.

Jimmy didn’t stop, going until he felt Jesse’s muscles spasm and tighten around him. Then he let himself go, spiralling into nothing more than feeling. They were the only two people in the universe.

***

As they passed the many familiar landmarks they’d seen during their ascent--the row of cairns, the family of marmots that littered the trail near a rocky den, the spot where they’d crossed paths with the bear--Jimmy knew that he didn’t want to leave his feelings for Jesse behind on the mountain. They stopped for lunch around mile seven and made it back to the car around sunset. They didn’t say much as they unloaded their packs into the back of the Jeep, and Jimmy worried that maybe Jesse would quickly forget the moments shared together in the wilderness. He felt a pang as he sat on the passenger side and buckled his seatbelt, knowing that he was leaving behind some of the best days of his entire life. He didn’t look at Jesse. He didn’t want to see the indifference that he’d find there, in his too-blue eyes.

The Jeep started up with a roar, and Jesse’s long-fingered hands fiddled with the radio. An old, staticky rock song filled the cab and Jimmy looked out the window. He wondered if he only imagined the distant plumes of steam against the orange horizon, rising up from where he imagined the hot springs might be.

He felt Jesse’s hand on his. He didn’t turn his head, letting Jesse’s hand slip shyly into his as they interlaced their fingers tightly together. As the jeep rumbled down the gravel-strewn path and toward the paved road, back toward Anchorage, away from the mountainside where at last he’d found quiet, simple contentment, he turned to take one last look. He wasn’t sure where they were going next; wasn’t sure if there was any place he’d ever feel quite at peace as he did here. All he knew was that at this moment, there was no one he wanted to be with but Jesse, and no place he’d rather be.

But Alaska.


End file.
